Pistol Whipped
by Angelas
Summary: Months after the events in China, things between Chris and Piers are tense. But with Jill now in the picture, Piers is determined to tell Chris how he's felt about him ever since. [Nivanfield]
1. Guilt

**Woo! Another Nivanfield. :D **

**Wanted to use this short multi-chap as a way to really delve into the humanity of the characters and their interactions. But I dunno, maybe it'll turn into something more later on. You guys decide. c:**

**I disclaim everything. D: So hush little Capcom~**

**oOo**

The reek of rain slithered in through open window clefts.

A sibilant hiss that bit the air with vicious fangs.

The smell of water sickens him, her perfume no longer able to mask the guilt that's slowly snaking in.

"Chris.."

It hurt to breathe.

It'd only been so long since.. everything.

Since Chinese waters had felt his skin, clung to his clothes, festered down deep into the bone 'till he swore that there could be nothing left of him anymore. As he watched the rippled waves, calm wherein their arrant exteriors, as his skin had burned and his heart had _rammed_ from within his chest, temples breaking, muscles stretching sickly.. Inside that pod, within the brace of safety, without the person who'd deserved it most.

The rain outside tore against the ceiling, a hellish sleet against each and every wall.

His hips are moving without him knowing now, but Jill doesn't seem to notice this at all.

She moans quietly. Her lips lie full and parted, eyes like beryl glass, her palm falling against Chris' cheek as he stares down towards nothing, a null void in his dark blue eyes. Her legs tighten around his waist, pleasure peaking forth with a soft, muffled cry she reluctantly lets out. She whispers something in his ear, but Chris doesn't hear it. The room is too dark and the guilt is too loud.

There's a clasp of thunder that shakes the entire room before Jill shouts Chris' name. She breathes loudly, caressing the sodden skin of his back, catching her breath whilst Chris allows her to kiss along the tract of his neck. Soon, her eyes begin to open towards Chris again, her legs falling back towards the bed, but Chris isn't looking back.

Chris isn't even really_ there._

"Chris.. you haven't-" she whispers, hand reaching for his face, but Chris is already pulling away.

"It's fine."

He sits up, hand rubbing hard at the side of his temples. He's stiff and his skin is now cold. She can tell. The stress that must've been written all over his face traced the awful silence of the room, and she almost _knows_ that there's nothing she can do.

Jill's brow knits into worry as she sits up with the sheets of the bed loosely wrapped around her, head resting against the broad plain of Chris' back. Her fingers fall into a light pattern against one of the tatted flowers decorating the back of his shoulder-blade. She kisses it, tells him to tell her what's on his mind, that she wants to help, that she's there for him. But Chris still says nothing. It's always the same each time he gets this way.

She waits, however. She cares. She caresses the knotted sinew of his muscles, coaxing him with a short story of the past. Her efforts pay, he nearly smiles, but then the smile is gone as soon as the story comes to an end.

Another clasp of thunder befalls them and Chris' hand falls to his knee, cold and frigid. There is a weight on his shoulders that never dissipates, there is rain outside that never goes away.

Jill wonders for just a second if, perhaps, Chris is _afraid_ of the storm.

"Wanna go out tonight? We only have so much time to ourselves before-"

"Sick," he says. "Can't do it."

Jill's expression immediately tightens. She almost feels stupid.

"Right."

Even a girl this smitten can get the message.

A grim nick at the end of her lips cracks as she pulls her hands away from him, scooting away, lending him space.

Chris merely watches her as she gets up from the bed, naked and bare before his eyes as she begins to get dressed; she's beautiful and lovely and soft, but there is no traction in his being to make him want to make her stop. Not with the smog of guilt rotting him, not with the recurring shame of the past.

She reaches for her keys, and for a very brief second, she stops.

"You've got 'til Tuesday to report in." The softness in her voice is gone now. She's stern. She clears her throat before taking a breath, exuding nothing but her rank and authority. "Alpha's got a meeting coming up, in case you didn't know." She slips into her coat, popping a stick of gum into her mouth, "Please show up, Chris. We need you."

Chris looks up towards her, to say something, to apologize, _anything_, but Jill's already gone.

The front door of the apartment slams shut, and Chris cannot find the gall to blame her for having left without a goodbye.

**oOo**

Training wasn't as easy as before.

Piers traced the outline of his right arm before a mirror, fingertips gently riding against the scars that matted against it; deep, stitched, and forever visible.

Holding his favored rifle for too long didn't go without having to deal with the uncomfortable strain that came with it all. Reloading the thing was even more painful, as he had to adjust the entirety of its weight on his shoulder for more than a few seconds, pressing hard onto damaged nerves and ever-healing muscle.

But Piers didn't care, scarcely felt it. His resolve had always been a solid constant.

He gazed blankly at the reflection that he hardly ever took the time to admire. Last time he'd taken a good look at himself was somewhere back before China. Before joining the BSAA. Before everything. Hell, he'd completely forgotten what color his eyes were. He lent towards the mirror, deciding on brown. Then green. Then hazel. And then on some weird hybrid mix between all three.

He ran a hand through his hair, inwardly sighing before closing the door to his designated locker. He was the only one there that night, and the night before. Evenings were often spent in this manner; the incessant sting in his arm always a perpetual reminder to work thrice as hard, if not harder. And with that sting, came the memories. Thoughts, so many of them, painful ones, images that were still so very clear.

Chris, inside that pod, bursting away as he watched from far beneath. The.. _thing_, that almost killed him. Both of them.

But what mattered most had always been Chris.

Piers frowned at his reflection, looking away from the locker as he slipped on his jacket.

All he could see was Chris' face from the other side of the glass – the desperation in his dark blue eyes as he begged him not to stay behind, the sheer amount of _panic_ that had been knit into his brow, the screaming.. the noise of metal breaking loose in the background.

Piers had only really seen Chris at least twice since he'd re-enrolled into duty immediately after getting out of the hospital, nearly six months ago.

The first time was all clumsy emotion with an awkward hug at the end, the second time was just hell.

Chris wouldn't even lend him a full sentence. Wouldn't look at him. It was frustrating, ate at Piers' nerves. There was so much to be said, so much to make clear, yet.. It was almost as if Chris just wouldn't let him. Didn't _want_ him to, refused to even listen.

Now, he was stationed here, somewhere in Northern California, awaiting further orders, not even knowing if Chris was stationed near the same area or not, if or when he'd see him again, or even_ ever_. Piers' brow furrowed tightly in a rising frustration, throwing on his scarf before he stormed out towards the exit.

No, Piers couldn't stop thinking about Chris Redfield. Not for the life of him.

**oOo**

It had stopped raining, but the streets were still caked with fog.

Chris looked away from the window before shuffling towards his closet, hand limply tugging out some random shirt and the only jacket he bothered to keep with him aside from his uniform.

It was somewhere late in the afternoon. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. The fact that he'd practically told Jill to fuck off earlier after having sex with her when she only meant well kept him in a perpetual, drunken stupor of self-hatred. He wasn't any good for her like this.

Hell, he wasn't any good to _anyone_ like this.

Chris' teeth clenched, all anger and ire at only himself, before the dent he'd punched in the wall caused the top shelf to unhinge and fall loudly to the ground, shattering several which nick-knacks Jill had placed there somewhere along the week. Thinking only made him angry, thinking only made the guilt come back.

It was his fault Piers did what he did; his fault he couldn't be a better leader, a better captain, a better _man_.

The entirety of his teams, each and every one, wiped out, dead and dying over and over again in his head every single night. How he'd pathetically failed to protect _any _of them – Marco, Finn, and all the others; all so_ fucking_ young. Shit, he'd almost lost Jill, too. And to have nearly lost Piers, always so faithful and always so loyal during even the most hopeless and fucked-up moments, the mere _thought_ of how he'd treated him, how he wouldn't _listen_.. How ungrateful he'd been the entire time–

"SHIT!"

Chris punched mindlessly at the wall again, hole after hole, kicking at nothing before angrily throwing anything he could get his hands on against the opposite window, effectively shattering the glass. The clamor of noise soon caused an uproar from the room upstairs, but it was only when Chris felt the rims of his eyes begin to dampen in which he finally stopped and took a breath, cursing under the quell of his rage. He clenched his eyes shut, willing it all away with his face towards the ceiling.

Fuck crying.

He learned from the day he watched Claire sob for days on end over their dead parents that tears wouldn't change _shit_. There wasn't anything more pitiful than being just another sob story to the world; nothing that could be more shameful. Nothing.

Taking the last swig of his last bottle of whiskey, Chris grabbed his wallet and went out the door, not bothering to lock it. The air outside was wet, puddles of the downpour flooding all along the streets. Chris stood dumbly in front of the apartment complex for a long moment, not knowing why the hell he went out in the first place, or what the hell he was even thinking on doing. He had about ten bucks in his wallet with absolutely no desire to take the ridiculous flight of stairs back to his room again just for the sake of his keys.

He stared blankly at his truck.

Fuck the truck.

He urged his body to move. As to where, he had no clue.

**oOo **

It didn't take too long before the rumble of a new storm roared somewhere in the black sky.

Chris could feel himself getting angry again at the plain smell of it. Not even an hour had passed. He took a left down a crosswalk, eyes set on a small cafe just right down the opposite block.

The place was desolate, if not for a young couple giggling with each other somewhere in the backmost corner. Chris grimaced. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd taken a girl on a date. Couldn't remember the last time he'd actually sat down at a public place within civilian perimeters without BOWs tearing everyone in sight into shreds.

"Good evening, sir. And welcome to Stella's."

Chris looked to his left. A young girl who couldn't have been in her twenties yet greeted him with a smile. Her hair lied cut short and blond. She immediately reminded him of Sherry Birkin. The thought of his own appearance soon bit at him, as he hadn't bothered with even his hair before he'd mindlessly left the apartment earlier that day.

"May I seat you down for tonight, sir?"

Chris looked back towards her, a little disoriented from the booze that still fogged his mind. He nodded. He wasn't hungry nor thirsty, but hell, he'd already gone inside. He was led through a small hallway and into a lightly-lit partition of the cafe – all soft music and candles. That's when he noticed just how.. fancy, the place was.

Chris felt his face begin to light up, feeling a little fucking embarrassed at himself, to say the least.

Alone, drunk, and looking like shit in a place like this? Just_ what_ had become of him?

He sat down, already feeling awkward as hell.

"Thanks.."

The girl wouldn't leave, just stood there, all smiles and rainbows. Chris took that as a cue to order something ASAP. He looked towards the menu and blurted out some name of a coffee he'd never heard of, flinching at the sound of his own voice. Thankfully, the girl was gone in a flash, leaving Chris to his woes at his empty table.

He looked around, noting the impressive set-up of the place. There were leafy vines that hugged at the walls in intricate patterns, incense that drew thin lines of smoke from the indented ridges in the walls, the romantic lighting..

He thought of Jill, and then he thought of how much she would freak if he'd taken her to a place like this. He'd see her smile, see her happy, something he'd been failing miserably at doing now for a very long time. He frowned, glaring at the green sheen of the table.

Yeah, she'd be much better off without him as a tumor in her life.

"Here you go sir." Startled, Chris blinked before giving the girl a pathetic excuse for a smile. She must've thought it was really fucking endearing or something, because she chuckled, her cheeks reddening. "Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

Chris sputtered to himself for a moment before shaking his head. His mouth didn't seem to want to cooperate with his brain apparently, or maybe he was just too damn drunk, anyway. The girl nodded without noticing Chris' dilemma, smiling sweetly before turning on her heel to leave.

Well, that was that.

Chris stared down at his steaming drink. It looked like some sort of mocha, or shake, he couldn't decide.

Taking a breath, he brought it to his lips, the taste of sugar at his tongue.

**oOo**

Piers had made it a habit to go out for coffee every evening after training ever since he'd gone so long without it during his lengthy stay at the hospital.

He knew the menu of Stella's like the back of his hand, he even had a favorite table, but what Piers _didn't_ have was the notion of seeing a very familiar figure slumped in his seat _**at**_ his favorite table.

His eyes widened. He froze where he stood as did his heart, hand reaching forward as he approached the man he thought couldn't be any other than Chris Redfield.

"Captain?"

His voice was soft, laced with bubbling hope, and when the man turned around, Piers could see only what he'd hoped he would see again since almost three months ago.

"Piers..?"

A surge of happiness began to well up in Piers' chest, the sheer shock of it all nearly causing him to want to wrap his arms around the other without the pretense of needing to let go.

Chris blinked several times as he watched Piers take the seat in front of him, wondering still if it was all in his head. This wouldn't be the first time he'd be seeing things..

"Captain, what are you doing here?"

Chris furrowed his brow in confusion, staring hard at the unmistakable face of his most recent partner, the one he considered to be dead for longer than he would've liked, the guilt of having thought that, the shame of not having been able to save him. Chris' head quickly began to throb in a sharp pain, flashbacks and voices already beginning to flood at every corner of his mind. Maybe he hadn't realized just how abominably drunk he was –

"Captain? Are you alright?"

"Yeah.."

There was a silence. Piers watched Chris regain himself, hardly able to remain still as he waited.

_Goddamn _it felt good to see Chris again.

He hadn't even changed at all. He looked good. Better than Piers could've ever imagined him. If anything, Chris' skin was a bit lighter, but the same look of having the entire weight of the world resting on his shoulders was still very much visible all across his complexion. Piers cleared his throat, eager for conversation.

"You look good, Captain," he smiled, "Same as last time."

Chris sat motionless, eventually looking away from Piers' direction. "Good to see you're okay."

"Same to you, Captain," Piers said, leaning closer towards Chris. "I've been meaning to.. see you again," Piers paused, a nervous tinge in his eyes as he realized what he'd just said. He laughed a little, as if correcting himself, before continuing, "But I never thought it'd be in a place like this."

"Was just getting coffee."

The sound of Chris' voice was almost bitter. Sour to the ear. Piers' brow began to furrow lightly. Chris wasn't even looking at him.

"Yeah, but you never liked-"

"Time changes people."

And then Piers didn't know what else to say.

He leaned back towards his seat, hands crossed on the table as he looked at Chris. There wasn't even a_ hint _of happiness on Chris' face to have seen him after almost three whole months of hearing almost nothing of one another.

Piers didn't get it. Didn't understand.

His jaw began to clench, something in his chest twisting painfully as the silence between them grew tense. Not at all one to give up, however, Piers cleared his throat, adamant towards Chris' downcast eyes. He'd been meaning to say something to Chris for a long while now. Ever since China, maybe even _before_. Something that didn't let Piers sleep at night, that bit at his conscience during every minute of the day, the reason for how hard he trained, what he had come to realize and embrace.

And he was going to say it _now_, in this_ very_ moment, whether Chris liked it or not, or so help him Piers wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"Captain," he began, a subtle etch of uncertainty in his voice, "I-"

"Just Chris. I insist."

Piers bit his lip, deflating wherein himself. Chris sounded anything but interested in anything he had to say, much less, interested in being around him. Maybe he shouldn't say anything. Maybe it was better this way.

Maybe he was an idiot for thinking what he thought, for wanting what he wanted.

For needing what he needed, so fucking _badly_.

Piers looked towards his lap, hearing Chris sip quietly into his coffee. The rain outside grew incredibly loud, thunder roaring and lightning flashing. Piers fumbled with his fingers on the table, waiting for the courage to even open his mouth again. He was beginning to feel flat-out unwelcomed.

Disregarded._ Ignored_.

"Everything that happened," he finally heard himself whisper, "was never your fault, Chris."

That sure struck something, because Chris' eyes began to dwindle up from their downed state.

Chris froze momentarily, swallowing thickly before catching a glimpse of Piers' right hand on the table. It was gloved, unlike the other one. Covered up. Chris didn't even want to imagine what lied beneath. The scars, the permanent reminder of what happened that first of July that Piers had to, and _will_ have to, deal with every morning of his life, all of the despicable amount of pain he endured just to save his worthless ass –

No, Chris couldn't do it. Couldn't even look Piers in the eye. Didn't even have the right to.

Just _being_ there was shameful.

"It was nice seeing you again, Piers," Chris slid his drink away, now emptied, before getting up from his seat, "I'm glad you're holding up."

Piers sat speechless, a scoff of disbelief stuck in his throat as he watched Chris just up and go without lending him a second glance. His hands tightened into fists on the table at the sound of the waitresses bidding Chris several flirty goodbyes from somewhere at the cafe's entrance.

It took a lot to piss Piers Nivans off, but Chris had definitely done it that night.

Taking a deep breath as he slowly got up, Piers could smell the distinctive tang of Chris' cologne that had been left behind. The same one Chris had always worn. The same one Piers smelled in the midst of his dreams, when he woke up every morning, within the dead hour of every one of his sleepless nights.

He'd dreamed Chris, he'd wished Chris, and now, he'd finally had him a mere foot away.

So close, so _there_.

Piers' brow furrowed in a seething frustration.

No, he wasn't going to be a sitting duck again.

Piers still had so much, _too much_, to say.

Without thinking twice, Piers immediately stormed out of the place, impassioned resolve in his hazel-green eyes.

**oOo**

**Pretty feedback makes me write faster. xx**


	2. I'll Text You

**Hi guyz, sorry for taking forever. o.0 I just don't want to rush this one for even a second~**

**Now go on and enjoy some argues between our two favorite boys. cx**

**oOo**

It was dark outside and the streets were empty.

A lone car sped through the wetted road, causing a splash of water that would have otherwise left Piers in a deluge if he hadn't moved just in time.

Hissing a curse from under his breath, Piers looked towards his far left, catching the tail of Chris' shadow take a sharp turn down the street corner (..which didn't make a whole lot of sense, because, well, the parking lot was on the right).

Without hesitating albeit wondering why the hell Chris was leaving without his car, Piers jogged (or more like sprinted) towards the street light that Chris looked like he was about to jaywalk. Reaching out, Piers quickly grabbed the older man by the shoulder, a little out of breath.

Chris stopped, but didn't turn.

"Go home, Piers."

At first, Piers felt like maybe he _should _go home.

Maybe get the message and move on. Hell, maybe he'd get a healthy amount of sleep for once while he was at it, so that perhaps he could make plans for tomorrow with the cute girl he met a few days back; take her to lunch, hang out with the guys as a way to end a fabulous night –

"No."

Chris turned this time, slowly, almost as if it were the last thing he ever wanted to do in the world, and faced Piers.

Chris' expression was frozen over, if not for the notable amount of stress that greatly dulled down his blue eyes. The last time Piers had seen them gleaming in their true brilliant color was back in Edonia, during Chris' passionate speech to the team. Back when everything was alright. Back when things were good.

Back when Chris still smiled.

After a long, uncomfortable silence between them, Chris let out a faint grunt before turning back around, ready to walk away without a word again. Piers, however, strongly differed on the matter, and once again grabbed Chris by the shoulder, spinning him around in the process.

"It's not safe for you to just wander around drunk in this part of town, you know that."

An etch of a scowl began to mark Chris' features before he roughly shoved Piers' hand away.

"I don't need your advice on how to survive." There was a heavy bitterness in the way Chris had said that, so bitter, in fact, that it nearly made Piers physically flinch back at the mere sound of his voice. "Go away."

Letting out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding in, Piers took a dangerous step forward, his brows lightly furrowed as he looked directly into Chris' eyes.

"_No_."

Piers' response didn't seem to have sat right with Chris.

It took a lot of balls to disobey Chris' orders, no matter how small, whether it'd be in or out of the battlefield.

Chris' face began to tense, shoulders straightening up in away that made him look a lot taller and a lot stronger. The difference between their body types lied unmistakable now, as did the obvious imbalance in their raw physical strength. Piers, however, didn't seem at all swayed by the other's physical advantage, nor the threat that Chris was now outwardly displaying as his features began to tighten into a sort of snarl.

Visibly angered at this point, Chris took a harsh step forward, bumping chests with his former subordinate, a low growl hitting the night air.

The whole scenario would have been intimidating as fuck to any other person, an easy choice between life or death, the chance to run, but Piers didn't react, just stood there, completely unshaken by the entire situation. Instead, he shoved Chris back by the shoulder, just enough to make him falter back by a small step.

"This isn't you, Chris. Maybe if you didn't let the past rule you over–"

"Shut-up.."

"–and you toned it down a little on the alcohol–"

"Shut-up!"

"–you wouldn't be like this!"

"_SHUT-UP!_"

"Because you _aren't_ like this, Chris!"

It looked like Chris was on the verge of doing something more drastic as a way to silence Piers once and for all, but before anything could happen, the violent rumble of an incoming storm tore suddenly through the black sky.

Giving Piers a very nasty glare, Chris once again spun on his heel to leave.

Piers stood there for a moment, looking blankly towards the ground as he heard the older man string several curses from underneath his breath. Maybe he _had _gone a little too far that time. But that still didn't take away from the fact that Chris was being totally unreasonable...and a little fucking immature, to say the least.

"Chris, wait."

But Chris didn't stop

"Chris, I'm sorry," Piers said a little louder this time.

But before Chris could take his next angry step forward, the downpour had begun. A heavy sleet of rain thundered from the sky in an instant, coating the roads and both men with it. Chris froze where he stood, leaving Piers some time to catch up.

They stood there for a long moment, with Chris' back towards Piers, soaking in the rain.

"Let me drive you home, at least," Piers finally said. He paused, swallowing softly before continuing. ".._Please_."

There. He'd said it.

Saying nothing, Chris turned around, suddenly walking towards the opposite direction without saying a word.

Piers let out a breath, not quite believing what had just happened. He'd honestly thought Chris was just going to storm off again, into the wet darkness of that evening, shattering all hopes of ever seeing him again as he disappeared somewhere into the distance of the city.

But he _hadn't_.

And knowing Chris, that meant something.

Not wasting any time, Piers followed close behind, making sure to give Chris his space as they walked back towards the cafe's parking lot in mutual silence.

**oOo**

Chris left Piers guessing for the first ten minutes.

But Piers could nail a lucky guess only so many times..

"Chris, you're gonna have to give me the address," Piers deadpanned, looking straight towards the road with both hands clenched around the steering wheel. "I'm shooting blanks here."

Chris seemed out of it. Actually, Chris looked a little dead.

A moment passed until Chris finally huffed out a response, his hand rubbing tenderly at the side of his temples. Piers quickly recognized the apartment complex and took a left on the next street corner, relaxing into his seat as he allowed one hand to drop down onto his lap as he drove.

Silence.

Arriving at the building, Piers shut off the car completely and looked straight towards the dashboard. He could hear Chris begin to unbuckle himself from the other seat, his hand already set on the handle of the car door in a notion to leave now and immediately.

Alright. It was now or never.

Piers took in a deep breath, bracing himself as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Wait.."

It was faint, hardly there, but Chris seemed to have heard Piers and ceased any further movements.

Exhaling slowly through his nose, Piers sat up in his seat, softly clearing his throat against the back of his gloved hand. He could feel his thigh begin to shake, a habit he never managed to outgrow, his face beginning to feel unbearably hot despite the icy air that slid in through the open windows. His jaw clenched tightly, nervously, almost as if it were telling him not to use it, a very small bead of sweat beginning to form at the side of his temples.

He had to say something.

He had to fucking _do_ something.

Everything, _anything_, because there was no way in hell Chris was just gonna walk out that door without some sort of fight.

Piers' heart began to race, hands tightening into fists, mind wracking itself for something to say–

But there was nothing but a long strain of silence that followed.

So long, in fact, that Chris had already started to move again. He kicked the door open, one foot already set on the wet asphalt of the outside before–

"Your number."

Chris froze. "What?"

"Your phone number, or your cellphone number, whichever one you use."

"What about it..?" Chris asked his shoe.

"I..." Piers swallowed, feeling like he'd die, "I would like to have it."

There was a prolonged interval of complete silence that left Piers on the verge of regret, but then Chris began to drawl out seven numbers (with incredibly long pauses in between, mind you) that Piers managed to write down somewhere on his hand at record speed.

When Chris had finally accomplished getting out of the car, he looked like he was seriously about to pass right out on the pavement at any moment. Right before the door was to be slammed shut, however, Piers reached out quickly, stopping it, nearly falling into the other seat of the car as he did so.

Chris' eyebrow rose lazily, his eyes dazed and fogged over with the aftermath of drunkery.

"I'll, uh.. I'll text you sometime."

And with an incoherent grunt of something or the other, Chris slammed the door shut, his figure stumbling towards the stairs of the three-story building. Piers took it upon himself to watch Chris closely until he'd reached the door to his apartment in a safely manner without falling to his eminent death. Slow to turn on the ignition, Piers gave himself a minute, closing his eyes as he collapsed deep into his seat.

Well, that certainly could have gone a lot worse.

He took a deep breath, the lungful of the scented air that loomed still from within the car putting him into a sort of trance that left him breathing more frequently and more eagerly than usual.

Leather, something spicy, and something that was just _Chris_ permeated the air, made it hellishly addictive, wonderful, and oh so amazing. It took Piers a minute to realize exactly what he'd been doing before he snapped out of it, his face lighting right up into a faint veil of embarrassment.

And then it sunk in.

Holy shit.

Chris Redfield had just given him his phone number.

Biting away a huge smile of triumph, Piers gazed at the seven digits scribbled onto his hand for a few moments before driving off into the storm.

**oOo**

He was floating.

But then he was drowning.

Lungs aflame. Heart held down against his ribs and pierced through by the water that seeped in from every open cleft. The taste of salt at his tongue, senses numbing, eyes bursting into inked splatters from within their sockets, but before he could slip away, accept the brace of death–

_Ding_.

Chris cracked one eye open, the dim light in the room coming from the sole, broken window next to his bed telling him that he had passed out well into the morning.. somehow. Maybe he could start the day early today for once. Maybe even go to the gym for a few hours. Clean a little and take a nice, long shower–

Psh. Fuck it.

He closed his eye again, embracing the recurring nightmares that he knew would soon follow once more as soon as he did so. Anything was better than having to deal with the bitch headache he was currently on the verge of having, anyway, or the full-body ache that seemed to have torn open and mangled every muscle sinew he possessed.

Just five more minutes wouldn't hurt anyone–

_Ding. Ding. _

Each ring was a stab to the head.

Groaning, and with a very sour look on his face, Chris rolled onto his side, glaring at the flashing screen of his phone. He'd always hated cellphones. The pager that kept him in contact with work was enough of a pain, but Jill had always insisted with getting the thing. So he finally did one day.

Speaking of Jill..

Ignoring his body's million screams of agony, Chris reached out for his phone, eyes wincing at the brightness of the screen as he struggled to read through the small text.

_Hey, what are you doing?_

But the sender was, in fact, not Jill at all. Instead, a series of numbers he did not recognize marked the sender. Chris frowned. No, he didn't remember giving anyone but Jill and Claire (and maybe Barry, he'd have to check) his private cellphone number. Besides, he didn't text. Even Jill knew that.

Chris stared at his phone in confusion for a moment before hesitantly bringing his fingers to the screen. It took a minute to get everything right, as he wasn't used to the fragility of touch-screens or anything that had to do with tiny, heat-sensitive buttons.

_who is this?_

Chris didn't even have the chance to blink until another _ding _pierced his tender ears.

_Piers..._

Freezing, Chris stared dumbly at the screen.

Last night was still a little foggy.

He did recall smashing up the walls and destroying a few things here and there, but he certainly didn't remember giving his former subordinate his private cellphone number. He brought a hand to his head, rubbing hard before he sat up in bed. A long streak of pain instantly ran up from his spine and into his cranium as he did so, causing him to wince and curse loudly from underneath his breath.

It'd been a while since he'd had a true hangover.

Before Chris could regain his bearings and begin to see straight again, however, another blare from his phone ripped into the room, causing his poor brain to throb angrily in distress.

_Is this Chris?_

At first, Chris brought his fingers to the screen again, but then Chris stopped. He looked towards the carpeted floor, staring at it as if waiting for it to give him some answers.

Okay, maybe Chris _did_ remember seeing Piers at the cafe, and he also remembered...leaving. He recalled all of the guilt that followed, remembered being angry, feeling like he wanted to kill something, smash some skulls open because it wouldn't stop fucking raining, and also because he hated being drunk but there was just no other way to forget and function throughout the day, no other way to–

_Hello?_

The smell of water from the outside, Piers' face, his gloved hand, the faint scars riding up against his right cheek.. The heart-wrenching fact that Piers had still insisted on calling him his 'captain' even after how much he'd failed him, how much he'd fucked up as a leader and as a man–

But before Chris could once again enter the blackened, hellish bowers of his own seething self-hatred and rage, the phone clenched from within his fist began to violently shake, letting out an ear-splitting screech that sounded a lot like the blood-curdled howls of the undead he'd seen far too many times throughout his career. Desperate to kill the noise and the flooding recurring images of rotted faces and flesh-hungry little girls, Chris slid his finger through the screen, consequently causing another voice to be heard from the other line.

"Hello? Chris? Is that you?"

The voice sounded a lot like Piers.

And for some strange, inexplicable reason that Chris didn't dare to dwell on for too long at that moment, it soothed him. Soothed him enough to kill the panic, the thoughts, and all of the emotional pain that threatened his overall sanity for the day.

Drowsy and somewhat lost, Chris brought the phone to his ear, letting out a very gruff and broken,

"Yeah."

There was a soft exhale of a breath from the other end. "Hey.."

"Hey.."

Silence.

Though, there was the sound of something fiddling back and forth in the background.

"So, um.."

Chris cleared his throat loudly, noticing there was something stuck in it, and he hoped with all his being that it wasn't a sign of a cold, because if it was–

"How are you.. today?"

More silence.

"Well, I hope better than yesterday. I just wanted to call and make sure you were alright."

"Yeah.."

"Anyway, I know it's sort of early to ask, but I was wondering if.. I dunno, if you're busy.. tomorrow?"

The words coming out of Piers' mouth were a little too fast for Chris' battered brain to be able to fully register at that moment, but he did manage to interpret something about whether or not he'd be busy tomorrow.

"Don't think so."

"Oh.. Well, there's this place down in Midtown that I think.." There was a hesitant pause, and then Piers seemed to have taken a very deep breath. Chris' brow began to furrow by just a little. "That I think you would like."

Chris should have weighed his options.

Chris should have taken a tuft of fresh air into his lungs before taking a nice cold shower. Chris should have done a lot of things to fully realize that Piers, the man who had always meant so much to him as a friend and as a comrade, had just asked him.. out?

But Chris hadn't done any of those things, see. And Chris was also experiencing one hell of a headache. So, instead, all that had mustered out of him in response had been a very confused and dumbstruck noise that came out sounding a lot like:

"Uh.."

For one reason or the other, Piers took that as a very positive response and proceeded to stutter several which things that Chris had failed to understand.

There was a smile in Piers' tone of voice, however, which was pretty much the only thing that led Chris to believe that he hadn't fucked up too hard like he usually found himself doing whenever he talked to people.

"I'll text you the address."

But before Chris could say anything or make some sort of hesitant noise, the line had been cut, and Chris was left sitting there on his bed, confused as fuck. Slowly putting his phone down somewhere on the bed, Chris stared at the wall in front of him, trying to wrap his flustered mind around what the hell had just happened.

Unfortunately, not much time was given to him before the loud clamor of the doorbell rang and oscillated throughout the entire apartment, tearing Chris' skull wide open for the cold air of the room to taste.

He stood, begrudgingly trudging towards the front door with both hands cradling his head.

**oOo**

When Chris opened the door he had already expected Jill to be there.

What he _didn't _expect was seeing Jill cover away half of her face.

"Jill..?" he asked, hand reaching out for her.

She turned around on her heel before coughing softly against the back of her hand. That's when Chris looked down to inspect himself.

Yep. He was completely naked.

Feeling a little fucking embarrassed, Chris quickly made his way towards the hallway, leaving the door wide open as a way to welcome Jill right in.

It was eight in the morning and the day was already rolling in like the flood. Chris hated mornings, hated being awake for them under any circumstance.

He came back moments later, properly dressed this time, to where he heard Jill tossing several things down onto the kitchen counter. Apparently, Chris had failed to notice the hundreds of grocery bags she'd been holding at the door..

He managed to smile a very small smile before approaching her, headache already beginning to miraculously recede. He watched her quietly as she placed a few cartons of milk into the fridge. He reached in to try and help her, always eternally perplexed by her selfless nature, but she had smacked his hand away, pushing him back away by the shoulder.

"I'll take care of it."

Nodding mostly to himself, Chris stepped back, fiddling quietly with the hem of his shirt.

"About yesterday–"

"Thought I'd bring you some food since I know if it were up to you, you'd rather starve yourself to death."

Chris took that as a clear sign to leave yesterday's incident inside the dark, hellish void of the past. He felt like shit. Really, he did. He always did. He couldn't understand why Jill insisted the way she did, why she was always there for him even when he pushed her so far away.

Always caring, always.._ giving_.

He didn't deserve it.

"You didn't have to.."

"I know."

Honestly, more often than not, Chris felt like a child whenever he was around her. A big, weak, emotionally unstable wreck of a child; one who knew how to hold a gun, fly any type of aerial conveyance, and snap a neck in the most proficient manner, anyway.

Not thinking too clearly, and rightfully enamored by the way her brown hair hugged against the vernal features of her face, Chris approached her from behind while she was distracted with putting some cans of food away into the cupboards. He pulled her in, her soft, feminine curves seeping into his much larger figure like a dove to its feathered nest. He lent in towards her neck, smelling her perfume, and with a faint intake of a breath he kissed her a few times right on the nape.

She immediately pulled away, straightening her jacket.

Chris watched her without the pretense of approaching her again, lest he anger her any further. He was well aware of his bitch move from yesterday, and Jill sure as hell wasn't going to let him forget it.

"I'm sorry."

"I know that, too."

There was a long silence before Jill finished rinsing the last plate in the sink. She turned towards Chris, an unreadable expression on her face that left Chris feeling like the biggest dick in the world.

"Don't forget about the meeting, Chris," she said. "The week will be over before you know it."

That's when Chris stopped and really took the time to look at Jill, something he hadn't done since he'd returned back from China.

She had cut her hair incredibly short long ago to rid herself of the blonde that had been forced upon her. It grew back fast. Or maybe he was just gone too much. It was up to her shoulders now, a little longer, even, by a few inches. She always tied it. Never liked it loose. He didn't understand. She looked so lovely whenever she just let it down, allowed it free against her shoulders. It made her look more relaxed, happier.

Or maybe it was just him.

Maybe _he_ was the problem, and not the way her hair happened to lie done.

He thought of the way she looked sixteen years ago, and then he thought of how he, himself, had looked sixteen years ago. It felt like aeons upon another. Chris hardly recognized himself whenever he bothered to look back, hardly even had the strength to.

Thinking that far into the past made his head hurt.

All he would see were old ghosts. Old enemies.. Old friends who'd either died or disappeared off the face of his life.

And then Chris thought of Piers.

His smile.

The unconditional and impassioned devotion that shone brightly in his hazel eyes whenever Piers looked at him. A devotion that Chris didn't understand, a devotion that couldn't and wouldn't ever make sense. Even now Piers could still look at him as his superior, as someone worthy of irrevocable respect, as his.. captain.

And to know – to be fully aware – that Piers could have died because of his complete and utter failure to fulfill but the very fundamental roots of what his role in the BSAA consisted of, to_** protect**_–

"Rest, Chris. You look like you need it," Jill said quietly.

Chris hadn't noticed how close she'd been by then, her hand tender on his shoulder as she spoke to him. There was a sad glint in her eye that denoted nothing but worry, a crease in her brow that told him that he'd been under a quiet spell for far too long. Chris didn't even want to begin to imagine how he'd _looked _like the entire time.

"I'll see you soon."

She reached up and planted a small kiss on his cheek.

And then she left without another word, leaving behind the floral taste of her perfume.

Chris just stood there, looking towards the ground before a loud _ding _from his phone sliced into the air.

**oOo**

**Don't forget to leave me a little something if you've got the time. ;D xx**


	3. In Dimming

**Err, this took a while to write. o.0**

**Warnings: Explicit sexual content between two hombres. Colorful language, and a lot of penis.**

**oOo**

The next day at exactly noon, Piers was already there.

He sat in the table on the far right corner, nursing his drink with the long minutes that passed.

The waitress asked him on several occasions if he'd been ready to order, but she'd always receive the same response.

"I'm waiting for someone," he'd smile, quickly glancing towards the entrance. "They'll be here soon."

And with each time that he repeated himself, the waitress would again refill his glass of water.

He'd been waiting for a little more than thirty minutes now, and though the next minute would always feel more promising than all the others before it, there would still be no sign of Chris.

Piers had refrained himself from texting or calling. He wanted to know what Chris would do on his own.

Actions always spoke louder than words, and seeing how Chris hardly spoke any to begin with, this alone would be a quick and easy way of truly knowing if or not he still mattered enough to be worth the time.

So, Piers sat hopeful, staring at the glass and then the table, willing away the urge to look at his watch.

Willing away the urge to just suck it up, move on, and_ leave_.

He waited ten more minutes. And with each dreaded, torturous second that slid past, the very last specks of hope that might've remained lied entirely butchered. Piers felt an empty feeling begin to hollow at his chest. Saying he felt utterly embarrassed at himself would be a huge understatement.

Yet, somehow, Piers knew somewhere in the very back of his mind that it would come down to exactly this one day. That their partnership would wither. That the strong relationship they once had as close friends and comrades would inevitably die and digress with the harsh currents of time; it was all Piers had thought about as he lied alone and crippled in that hospital bed with IVs needled into his hands.

Life had been cruel to Chris. Chris had seen and been through it all ten times over and back. And even more-so with all the seven stages of hell that took place in China, Piers felt his feelings begin to feel more and more irrelevant.

Petty. Insignificant, and just downright.. foolish.

New orders and the chronic change of life would keep them apart, maybe forever. If not now, eventually. And though Piers shamefully wished things would return as they had been long ago, fate was a bitch.

Chris had his own life now, and Piers was no longer an essential part of it. And for as far as Piers knew, Chris really didn't seem the type to fancy another male's.._ intimate_,affections or advances, anyway.

Piers himself was still battling with the notion. Never in his life would he have thought to have attained such torrid and impassioned emotions for another man, a much_ older _man. Emotions that ate him from the outside in, emotions that wormed through his skin and then through his clothes, consuming him.

But even then Chris would never be attainable. Let alone, his, and the idea was just now slowly beginning to sink in.

It hurt more than anything.

"Are you ready to order now, sir? Or would you like another glass of water?"

"Oh.. No, I think this will be it for today, actually."

Trying hard not to facially display his heart-shattering disappointment and inner turmoil to the young girl, Piers reached for his wallet, ready to pay for all the water he'd consumed in the past forty minutes. But, just when he was to pull out a few bills, the resonant lull of a very familiar voice transcended suddenly from the restaurant's entrance.

Piers looked towards its direction.

Chris.

An instant glimmer immediately oscillated through Piers' hazel eyes with the intensity of a million, lovesick suns. The waitress, for her part, hadn't failed to notice this. She, too, turned, smiling to herself as she realized the situation for what it was all along.

"Good afternoon, mister! May I be the one to seat you for today?"

"Uh.. I'm actually here for a reservation?"

"Oh! Right this way, sir."

Piers froze in his seat, the words forever lost inside his throat.

**oOo**

The very first impulse that struck was to fix his hair.

Piers ran his hand through the front of it a few times, careful not to ruin the sides.

The footsteps neared, and before he had the opportunity to check how the quick hair fix had turned out on the screen of his phone, Chris was already sitting down. Right in front of him.

Chris wore cologne.

The same one as always. He smelled nice. He looked great. He came dressed in blacks and grays. A single, silver lariat fell from his neck, a small imprinted emblem glinting from its chain. Piers could do nothing but shamelessly run his eyes up and down the man in front of him, unable to speak. The words were gone, laced wherein the seams of his every stolen breath.

All he could do was stare.

Quickly picking up on the delicate tension between both men, the waitress made haste to pass out the menus before excusing herself to another table.

Chris was the first to break the silence.

"Hey.." he said, voice gruff and quite honestly sounding like he'd just woken up not too long ago. "Sorry for the shitty timing. I–"

"It's fine." Piers' lips cracked into a tiny smile, hands reaching for the menu whilst he kept his eyes on Chris' own. They looked so blue that day.. "Didn't have to wait for all that much, anyway."

Not being able to find the right thing to say, Chris looked down towards his menu and quietly started skimming through it. There were a lot of salads listed (or what _looked_ like salads, anyway), and plenty of exotic, foreign dishes whose names Chris had no idea how to pronounce. None of them looked good to him.

That's when Chris noticed that he really wasn't hungry, in the first place. Not even the thought of a nice, thick rind of rare steak managed to pique his interest.

Chris grimaced.

He felt stiff, tired, and just plain wrong. Piers' eyes were boring holes through him, waiting for him to react in some way. Chris knew this without even having to look. Chris also knew that Piers had downplayed how much time he'd truly been sitting there just waiting for him. He felt bad. Actually, he felt like the biggest dick the world could ever hope to conjure up.

But before Chris could fuck himself up any further with the chronic shame of guilt and overall feelings of shittiness, Piers spoke, voice light and cheery.

"This is actually my first time trying this stuff, but since I remember you telling me once that you liked Thai, I thought you would appreciate it here."

Chris looked up from his menu. "What..?"

"Back at camp. On our first day of training. We talked all through the night, just us and the team." Chris still looked lost. Piers sighed, a reminiscent smile on his face. "But that was a while ago, I guess. And like you said, Captain.. People change, right?"

Piers laughed a little. Fake, but somehow still credible. Either way, Chris didn't know how the hell the kid did it; to still be able to smile like that, even after all of the fucked up shit he'd seen and been through. Knowing that, as they sat there, inactive and in useless respite, a new hell could potentially be brewing somewhere within the dark, inner recesses of the world. That a new terrorism could strike at any moment; new plagues, more deaths, and more war.

Yet, Piers could still smile.

Still serve, and still be able to maintain his youth.

It was a marvel all in itself, and Chris didn't understand any of it.

**oOo**

Sweet, sweet Sundays.

While others were out stressing and dreading over Monday's work, it was Jill's turn to just lay back and relax.

She liked to spend the majority of the afternoon's hours hidden under the sheets of her bed with only a box of chocolate truffles at her side to keep her company.

The tv, for its part, would always have to be on maximum volume. The noise was essential. The louder it was, the less of an opportunity Jill would have to think about things. Would this perfect plan fail (which regrettably it had on several occasions), her special day would end up in ruins.

Meaning, she'd have to wait another six days just to try the whole thing again.

She liked to have two piles of magazines next to her, and a nice hot cup of coffee steaming on the nightstand so that it would twine into the air, making the whole room smell delicious. She kept her cellphone close, not because she was eager to hear from work, but because on the sporadic and heart-fluttering occasion, Chris would shoot her a text.

The text would often consist of something short and awfully brief. Something along the lines of a 'good morning' or 'goodnight' were the most common and expected. But it was the rare 'I miss you's and 'thinking of you's that made Jill practically thaw from emotion.

So far, however, there had been no text from Chris that day.

She didn't allow herself to wonder why. Instead, she picked up one of the magazines and started flipping through it, eyes skimming through the photos and their headlines. Everything looked boring. Make-up ads, celebrity break-ups, the new scandal on heeled flip-flops, etc.

She reached for another truffle, quickly becoming bored, but before she could place it inside her mouth, her hand froze against the edge of the page. Her brow furrowed gently, truffle falling somewhere on her chest. Her fingers fell to the photograph on the magazine, softly tracing against it.

_With your hand in his, a fairytale awaits._

At first, Jill's initial reaction was to scoff, flip the page, and give the ad's claim a nice good 'fuck you'. Fairytales weren't real, especially for a woman her age, and neither was the silly promise of marriage. It was really all very laughable stuff, considering her line of work.

But, no matter how hard she tried, Jill couldn't stop herself from just sitting there and staring at the ad.

Her finger traced the etch of the woman's white dress, and then to the veil on her head. The bouquet, and the pearls around her neck. Jill's eyes narrowed. Her finger fell to the man on the ad, behind the woman, his hand in hers, dressed in black, his lips on the bride's cheek.

Jill froze. Her fingers fell from the image, and without any prior warning, what she had feared most in life began to take place. It wasn't the monsters she fought and killed throughout her entire career, it wasn't any of the nightmares she'd ever had, it wasn't her past, and it wasn't death.

Her walls began to crack.

Her inner shell waned and shattered loudly from within her ears. Her brow slanted upwards despite her efforts.

Her lips tightened into a thin, wavering line, eyes suddenly hurting.

She could see only herself in that dress.

With Chris. Her hand in his.

Her head spun.

She ripped the page out in a flurry of frustration, tearing it into a dozen wretched, little pieces. Her hands shook as she allowed it all to fall somewhere on the bed like a big, happy celebration of anxiety and distress. Biting her lip, she took a deep breath and sat up, the layer of blankets falling gently from her figure. She looked towards the wall, staring, willing it all away as her nails dug deep into her palms. Before the skin underneath could cut open, her cellphone suddenly began to ring.

Hissing away the sharp breath she'd purposely held in, Jill reached for the thing, trying her best to compose herself as she ran a hand through her long, disheveled hair.

"Hello?"

"Jill? That you?"

"Claire?" Jill's eyes widened. She was definitely not expecting that. "Wha– How are you?"

"Fine! But hey, what's all that noise in the background? You at the movies or something?"

"N-no..! I mean, no, it's just.. Here." She stood, shutting off the tv. "Better?"

"Yeah, much better," Claire chuckled.

Jill stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, fingers fiddling with the hem of her nightshirt. Speaking to Claire only made the thought of Chris stronger, and that was definitely the last thing she needed at that particular moment. Not trusting her voice, Jill kept quiet.

Claire, apparently, thought that was slightly odd.

"Jill? Are you okay? You're a little quiet there.."

"I'm fine," Jill shot, "Just.. tired. I didn't sleep well last night."

Either way, Claire was quick to change the subject. "Well, hey, I was wondering if Chris was with you? I tried calling him a few times, but he isn't picking up."

Jill held her breath. "No. I haven't seen him since yesterday."

"Well, how is he, anyway? Still his usual grumpy, adorable self, I'm guessing?"

Jill would have laughed had she not been pacing back and forth, eager to get off the phone. She needed fresh air, not more and more thoughts about the one man who had her more smitten than last night's chocolate cake. Halfway through the conversation, Jill thought quick and feigned the excuse of someone at the door. Both women bid their goodbyes and got off the phone.

First thing Jill did was slip into whatever jeans she found first. And with her keys in hand, she flew out the door.

She made sure to leave her cellphone far behind her.

**oOo**

Lunch went better than expected.

Piers even managed to get a few reluctant chuckles out of Chris with all the puns he'd managed to pull; and also because, well, he fancied himself a good comedian when it came down to reciting a couple of the dumb jokes he'd heard from the guys at work.

They decided to prolong the night with some drinks, as their stay at the Thai place had bordered on abnormal with a winning record of nearly three and a half hours. Piers had insisted on the bill, and deeming with just how stubborn the young sniper could be, Chris had eventually given in. They wandered the downtown area for a while, looking for a decent place to make their stop. They walked mostly in silence, shoulder to shoulder, mazing through the young and elderly couples who held hands from around them.

Sundays were busy nights in San Francisco. A goodbye to the weekend, the prelude to a new start. The ocean's roaring waves could be heard from miles off. The fresh breeze was nice, the previous afternoon's rain glistening brightly against the black asphalt.

Piers wouldn't trade that night for all the others he'd lived. With Chris beside him, looking as peaceful as he did, the tight lines he usually wore at his brow gone and long tamed. Only the stunning, familiar sheen of his dark, blue eyes remained. It was truly the only thing that confirmed that the man walking beside him was still the same man who had been through ten hells and back.

Piers tried hard not to secretly stare. He'd never seen Chris' eyes looking like that. Never seen him so calm, and so.. human.

Chris looked amazing.

Piers, for his part, had forgotten the existence of most things. Things were beginning to feel a lot like how they were back in the day. Just them. With no semi-automatics leveled in their arms and no BOWs chasing after them. Just here, in this moment, so close to the ocean shores, forgetting about the trials of the future and the ones before it, if only for just one, single, precious night.

The streets lied dimly litted now, emphasizing the masculine contours of Chris' face, tracing against them, painting them beautifully. Women stopped and stared. Men did, too. Piers felt a surge of pride each time, just knowing how lucky he was to be the one at Chris' side, and no other. Their fingers would come to caress whenever they entered and angled through an exceptionally crowded area. Chris' fingers were soft. Warm, and everything else Piers knew and dreamed they would be.

Be those moments accidental or not, each brush never failed to leave Piers in a perpetual, electrified daze.

"This place look okay?"

Piers turned towards Chris, and then towards the building, a grin on his face.

"Looks great to me, Captain." Piers jogged towards the door of the bar, opening it. "Ladies first."

Chris scoffed, shaking his head.

Piers could've sworn on anything that he'd seen Chris smile that day.

**oOo**

Piers was never big on the alcohol, but he allowed himself to loosen up a little with a beer.

Chris, on the other hand, went all out with the scotch.

"Haven't had one of these in a while," Piers commented, watching as Chris downed his fifth shot of the evening. "My dad was big on them, though."

Chris nodded, not wanting to delve on the subject altogether. He did manage to recall the sour relationship between Piers and his father. He also recalled meeting the guy the day he recruited Piers into Alpha team, set on bringing him to Edonia to fight the unknown the very next day.

..The meeting didn't go too well, to say the least.

"Chris, I.. I need to ask you something."

Chris looked up, setting down his glass. His vision had become a little blurry. The room began to move in a slow spin. Vertigo was kicking in.

"What do you think.." Piers paused, taking a deep breath as he lent closer towards Chris from across the small table. "What do you think about this?"

Chris' eyebrow rose lazily in response, his eyes a bit disoriented. There were two Piers now, and it was beginning to get increasingly difficult to pinpoint the correct one.

"This..?"

Piers looked towards the table, as if he were really thinking hard on something. A strange silence befell them. Chris blinked several times in confusion.

But just when Piers looked like he was gonna say what he was going to say, to clarify, he relaxed back into his seat, shaking his head to the side. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Both men agreed to leave it at that for the night.

**oOo**

Somehow, Piers hadn't been too surprised when he ended up being the one to escort Chris out of the bar.

Some guy had been flapping his mouth a little too loosely, spewing several which sexual obscenities from the table right across from them. So, Piers, being his fiery and terribly outspoken self, had boldly approached the guy in order to give him a very kind and concise 'shut the fuck up, please', to which said guy responded with 'get your twink ass out of my face, bitch'.

Before Piers could deal with the problem himself, Chris had, of course, beat him to it.

The last thing the guy must've felt before hurling ten feet out of his chair was probably Chris' fist unhinging his jaw right off of his face. Possibly pulverizing a few bones in the process, too, judging just by the sound of it.

Either way, here they were now, with both cellphones completely dead and on their way towards the nearest taxi stop. It was a whole mile off. A tense silence grew between them. Chris stumbled with each step that he took, unable to walk in a straight line. Piers attempted to offer his shoulder a few times, but was awarded with nothing but a rather nasty glare in response to his gesture.

So Piers stuck with just following behind at the other's pace, not saying anything. Chris still looked pissed, the previous peace in his eyes long-gone. It was shitty how much a single idiot could ruin an otherwise perfectly amazing day. Piers really wished the night hadn't ended this way. It wasn't fair how one negative incident could so easily make all the positive ones suddenly disappear, overwriting them.

It was bullshit. It was lower than bullshit, actually, and Piers was dying to voice it.

When they were a few yards away from the final street corner, Piers could no longer keep it bottled in. Enough would be enough one day, that day being today, and he wasn't going to let this night of all others just go to utter shit like this. He stopped, making Chris stop, as well.

"I care about you, Chris," he said, voice loud and clear with no more bullshit in between. "I waited and I hoped, and I fucking dreamt you every single miserable fucking night of my life, Chris. Just you, it was always just you."

There. He'd said it. Some of it, anyway. Chris froze for a moment, but then he was moving again, walking away.

"You can't keep walking away from me, Chris," Piers said a little louder this time. "Just like you can't keep walking away from everything else in your life."

But Chris still didn't stop. Piers' brow furrowed tightly, an ire kindled in his eyes. There was no way in hell he was gonna let Chris pull this stunt again. He caught up and reached for the older man's shoulder, roughly spinning him around in the process.

This time, however, Chris retaliated.

The rest happened in a heartbeat. Piers didn't have the opportunity to register anything, not until he found himself in the shadows of an abandoned alley, shoved up against a cold, concrete wall with Chris' powerful forearm pressed harshly against his neck, stealing the air right out of his lungs.

"You don't know what the hell you're saying, kid," Chris hissed, each word laced with the strong reek of alcohol. "Don't fuck with me, Piers. Life already takes care of that."

Piers didn't move, just stared into Chris' eyes. He'd never seen Chris this angry before, but he wasn't very surprised, either. There was a fist right next to the left side of his face, where the thin array of scars lay. He could've easily wormed his way out of the situation if he truly cared to, but didn't. Chris wasn't thinking straight. That's what Piers told himself, anyway.

"Go ahead. Hit me," he breathed. Chris was choking him like he meant it. "But it still won't.. fucking change.. anything."

Chris snarled, cursing from underneath his breath before finally letting go, ready to walk away without a word again.

Piers didn't waste any time, air in his lungs or not. He pushed Chris against the opposite wall, pinning him with all the strength he could muster up. Unfortunately, Chris had always been a man of violent reflex, and immediately managed to switch their positions without much effort at all, once again rendering Piers defenseless with a fist already prepped next to the younger man's jaw.

But something that Chris never learned to fight on impulse was the shock of an unexpected kiss.

**oOo**

There were no real words to describe it.

Chris had never kissed another man before.

The last time he'd even pondered the notion was back in his twenties, ages ago. He'd figured it would feel hard, prickly, and awfully unpleasant, though. He'd also decided that, if it ever came to happen, he wouldn't ever come to enjoy it.

But the way Piers felt against his lips that night betrayed all of that in just one, single, sinfully delicious second.

Piers' lips were soft. His skin lied smooth and shaven, the taste of him anything but unpleasant.

Unlike a woman, however, Piers had a very boyish taste. Youthful and wet, and oh so hellishly sweet.

Chris was a man. And like any other man, Chris had very masculine needs that ached to be sated. He was mostly drunk, angry, provoked, and suddenly very turned-on. Piers was far too soft for his own good, too easy to be able to physically overpower. Too _close._

Chris' primal instincts kicked in.

He found himself suddenly responding into the kiss, the previous shock in his wide open eyes dispersing as he cradled Piers' face into his palm with one strong arm curved around the younger man's back, drawing him close. Chris ran his tongue along Piers' own, both mouths open and greedy with strings of saliva connecting them throughout. Piers let out a small, sexy noise, causing Chris' cock to become increasingly hard from within its confines.

The hand previously on Piers' cheek moved then to his short hair, clenching long and hard onto a tuft of it. All at once, Piers was being led to be pressed against the wall again with one of Chris' knees working its way in between his legs. Off balance now, Piers allowed himself to be entrapped between solid concrete and solid muscle.

Chris never once pulled away.

If anything, Chris intensified the kiss, his tongue licking and tracing the pink, sensitive seam of Piers' parted lips, the occasional sharp nip deriving a soft mewl to inevitably escape the younger man's throat. Before Piers could attempt to do the same, however, Chris had pulled away, breath etching against Piers' own, watching.

"Shit.."

Piers, male or not, was quite the eliciting sight.

Chris lent towards Piers' neck, biting softly all along the nape, ending only at the earlobe where he licked and whispered filthy little nothings that left Piers worming in the craze of his own need. The feeling was unlike anything. If Chris hadn't been holding him up with his weight the way he was, Piers would have long collapsed somewhere on the floor.

Panting quietly despite himself, Piers' hazel eyes began to glaze over with lust, dulling greatly in their color. His brow knit upwards, face flushed in a thin veil of red. His dick was frantic and throbbing now, leaking from in between his quivering thighs. His mind reeled, his own skin beginning to feel much too hot to even be in. That's when Chris really started digging into his neck, all teeth and tongue as his hands traveled back towards Piers' ass, clenching hard and possessively.

"Don't stop, Chris," Piers whispered, lending the other more open access of his neck. "Fuck, I want you so bad."

Encouraged, Chris sucked with voracious abandon, surely leaving a trail of dark, angry marks that Piers would have a lot of trouble explaining to anyone who happened to ask the next day. It hurt. But it hurt so good, and with Chris' strong hands groping at his ass like he owned every piece of it, the coil of orgasm began to helplessly twine.

"Ah.. fuck.."

Chris growled, his hands snaking into the confines of Piers' pants and underwear, quick to clench two handfuls of the bare globes that lied beneath. Piers bit his lip, feeling the very tips of Chris' fingers give the occasional brush against his hole, teasing it. His cock jumped at the feeling, eager for more.

Determined, Piers reached for the other's erection, caressing long and fast against the length of it. He ran his fingers along the pulsing contours a few times before he brought his hands to the zipper of his own jeans, quick to unbutton them.

Chris took the hint and momentarily separated himself from Piers. He watched, breathless, as the younger man kicked his shoes and socks off, along with his pants, rendering himself completely vulnerable to Chris' hungry gaze from within the dark shadows of the abandoned alley. Piers' legs lied smooth, hairless, chiseled lightly with athletic muscle. Chris immediately pressed himself against him, staring right into those bright and bottomless, green oceans for eyes that surely no one else could ever dream to have.

Kicking Piers' thighs open with his knee, Chris reached down below, beneath Piers' painfully erected cock and under his balls, caressing the sealed hole that lied safely hidden from 'neath the mounds of his ass. Leaning to silence Piers in a deep, tongue-filled kiss, Chris pushed against the puckered opening with two of his fingers, breaching the tight ring of muscle inch by inch. Piers showed no resistance and instead moaned softly against the kiss, bringing his arms to wrap around Chris' neck like two pining swans entwined.

Long, calloused, powerful fingers to match the powerful virility that Chris was always known for, that Piers loved the most; fingers that scissored and twisted from within him, stretching mercilessly, skilled and experience. Piers melted against the wall, legs shaking as a thin string of saliva seeped from their kiss, falling to etch against the prominent sinew of his jaw.

It was a dream.

It was a drug, and Piers wondered how he would be able to live on without this to accompany every remaining day of his life. With Chris' fingers fucking into him, filling him, his lips hungry on his own, with their bodies this close and this intimate, as they should have been years ago.

Chris soon sunk himself to the knuckles, fingers wet and coated with Piers' warm insides, caressing and tracing before violently pumping in and out. The wetted noise tainted the air, forcing Piers to blush brightly in embarrassment, his eyes clenching shut.

After a half-minute of raw, brutal finger-fucking, Chris reached for Piers' leg in order to hook it against his shoulder as they stood, placing himself flush against the tiny, throbbing hole that promised so much friction.

"Shit, Piers.. You're so tight," Chris murmured, eyes foggy and face painted dark with the ink of carnality. "Gonna tear you open, make you scream."

Piers, for his part, was in another land far beyond.

His eyes had long dwindled towards his skull, arms weak and dangling at his sides. Chris could have him all night long in that very alley, fuck him 'till it hurt to breathe, plunder every inch of his body; taint him, maim him. Piers wanted it all. He'd waited so long, sleepless nights and countless dreams, he wanted Chris' cock to own him through and between, if only for just one more kiss.

Chris began to push in, fucking Piers open with the massive width of his prick.

Chris was unlike anything Piers could have ever hoped to expect.

He realizes this far too late, however, as he is slowly stretched far beyond the preparation of just two fingers, as the stretch continues until he is crying out, half groaning and half keening. Part of him wants to struggle away from the invading pressure, but the other foams at the mouth for more, desperate for the sweet promise of release, desperate for Chris, and Chris alone.

So Piers takes it.

And he takes it.

And when he is utterly full and shivering all over his skin, and is so sickeningly stretched that even the angle of his own straining cock is affected, he allowed himself the space of a breath to realize that he was being fucked by the man of his dreams.

That the enormous cock throbbing in his gut is Chris Redfield's: his life-long role model and fantasy, the man he nearly gave his entire life to protect and to keep safe. The man he would continue to adore and hold in the highest respects despite everything; the man who had been through so much for the sake of others and never once for himself.

Chris. A good person. A good fucking person. A hero.

And Piers loved him.

Yes, loved him.

Loved him more than anything. And in that love, he'd give everything.

Practically sobbing in pleasure, and with the color in his eyes long gone, Piers brought his hands to Chris' arms to clench hard onto the fabric of his jacket, holding on for dear life. His leg had numbed and lost feeling long ago as it dangled still against Chris' shoulder.

Piers lent forward experimentally, savoring now the burn and every second of his defilement. And so Chris grasped the leg prepped against his shoulder in desperation, holding it open as he pressed it roughly against the wall, rendering Piers into a very vulnerable and revealing position.

Chris never stopped fucking him senseless.

Piers could do nothing but helplessly rock into the breadth of Chris' cock, pulling him in, the burning coil of his climax beginning to twist painfully from within his pelvis.

But then Chris shudders all over and suddenly tenses and Piers is certain that he will feel the hot flood of Chris' seed soil him at any moment. Before Piers could even have the opportunity to catch a breath, however, and possibly convulse and die in the twine of his own orgasm, Chris hit a small bundle of nerves with the very tip of his cock that left Piers' eyes shooting wide open in shock.

Five different times.

Piers' load shot almost instantly on the very first go, soiling both of their chests, some of it managing to land on Chris' chin. The muscles in his rectum tightened and twitched, and with the sheer amount of pressure they emitted onto the sensitive pole of Chris' prick, Chris came soon after as well with a low, ghostly breath that sounded a lot like, "Piers."

They stayed that way for a long while, senses setting and with their bodies still intimately connected, fighting for each other's carbonated air.

For the next innumerable amount of minutes, they could only stare at one another, a perpetual amazement in their eyes that never waned.

Both men kissed softly, wordlessly, until the moon above lied small and faded, not knowing when or how they could ever come to separate for the night.

But life was cruel.

And so, somehow, with the hour that passed, with one final kiss, they had.

**oOo**

The very next day, after finally deciding what to wear, Piers was already heading over to Chris' place.

His heart fluttered.

His mind reeled with memories of just last night, a dashing smile on his face that he couldn't keep away no matter how hard he tried. He chewed on his lip as he drove, feeling awfully nervous, anxious, excited, delirious, and every other emotion that he might've failed to pick up on.

A single rose rested on the opposite seat.

He was dying to tell Chris. _Dying _to tell him.

Dying to ask him if he felt the same.

Dying just to see him.

Upon reaching the apartment complex, however, Piers froze into a cold death. His hands fell from the steering wheel, the previous smile on his face slowly but surely dispersing.

His eyes dulled.

His heart felt to have stopped.

There, through the sleet of rain and by the apartment's staircase, he could see Chris.

An umbrella in his hand, a woman with brown hair next him.

Her hand in his.

**oOo**

**Leave me a little something, yes? c: xx**


End file.
